Pain
by AwesomeNess123
Summary: Harry is in need relief after his last suicide attempt and desperate times call for desperate matters.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Honestly I never thought that little bit of writing would get so much attention. I love writing but I'm not the best at figuring out punctuation or spacing of things. I would really like a beta reader but I don't want to choose one randomly so if anyone has one they would like to recommend I would greatly appreciate it. Thank you and please enjoy reading.__ I don't own Harry Potter._

**PAIN**

I don't when it started and I'm not sure how. I hate life and I don't wish to live, but every time I try I am unsuccessful. I have tried a total of 7 times. The most recent attempt leaving me with my voice unusable.

They won't let me.

Die that is. I wake the morning after with eyes full of worry, confusion, and expectation plowing into me. I hate waking up to that let alone at all. Worry is for my well being. I have distanced myself from everyone letting them know I no longer wish to be around them. Confusion is for the lack of reason I give. My buissness is just that, _mine_, not theirs. Last but not least, expectation is for wanted me to get up and continue to fight against evil. What exactly defines evil? It is all based on point of view and how you perceive things. My way of seeing things has changed and I wonder if I'm ever able to leave, to switch sides, will I still have this raging need to off myself?

Until I'm free to go I will never know, and that won't be happening any time soon. At this very moment in time I am confined. Confined to the light when I so desperately wish to lie in the dark, to shield myself from the blinding pain they inflict upon me. I'm told I have so much to live for but, honestly what is there? I'm being trained to kill at the age of 16. Who is taught that? Who?

I need to leave and soon or I might go mental. Anything would be better than this though. I'm seriously on my last thread and it is about to snap from the sheer pressure being placed on it. So I sit here and write this to you, the strongest wizard of time and beg. I beg to you on my hands and knees to take me. Steal me away and do what you shall whether you kill me, beat me, or break me. Ill welcome you with open arms and obey you to my fullest ability. I, Harry James Potter, ask you, Dark Lord Voldemort, to steal me away from this hell I live.

~Harry

Voldemort smiled as he read the letter and let out a bark of laughter. It was time to claim his prize.


	2. Chapter 2

**PAIN**

_A/N: Honestly I never thought that little bit of writing would get so much attention. Thank you and please enjoy reading._

_ATTEMPT #1_

He had just turned 16 that very night. Making dinner for the people he had to call family, even though they didn't deserve that title. It was Harry's birthday and they knowingly denied him any food. Punishing him for being born as if he had a choice in that decision. Running up the stairs, he wonders why. Why was he given to this family? Logically, he knew why but using his heart he just couldn't find reason in the decision.

He had been hurting himself for awhile now, nothing serious just ACCIDENTLY burning his wrist while cooking breakfast or SLIPPING and cutting himself on the knife. It wasn't as if his family cared. Getting away with it was, no one ever asked. He panicked at first, not understanding why his will to live was slowly but surely leaving.

He wrote every day to his friends, mentors, anyone he could think of asking why he felt that way.

The answers he got were obviously less than helpful. It was expected apparently in his situation but it was something they said he needed to handle on his own. He had tried and long into the future those letters will come back to bite them. A few weeks had gone by and slowly Harry happiness started to leak from his pores into puddles on the floor, one more mess he had to clean.

The Dursleys were out and Harry was getting a rare opportunity to bathe for as long as he wished. Sitting on the bathroom floor with his forehead pressed to the porcelain of the tub, he looked as if he couldn't focus. He had been trying for weeks to contact his friends but it was pointless.

All he ever got back was short answers saying that they'll write him later when they had more time. Harry had wondered if his friends were together and leaving him out. He couldn't think about that right now, it's his time to relax.

Reaching he turns the tab to hot, as hot as it will go and after he retracts his arm he sluggishly rises from the tiles and strips off his clothes as if it's a chore. Harry steps into the shower not caring if he being cooked by it.

The pain it brings makes him feel more than he has in a long time, and for a moment he relishes in it. He quickly scrubs his body and hair, sitting on the floor when he is done. Looking down at himself, he feels tears coming to his eyes, whether from anger, sadness, or whatever else he could feel, he doesn't know, feeling only a sense of mourning over something he didn't know he lost. A frame of slight build, hunched in the corner of the shower, lets out the most heart wrenching howls as he shakes with the force of tears. Harry is at first unwilling to let them fall, but gravity is yanking them out of his tear ducts without any mercy. Slowly he can breathe once more, but not without difficulty.

Sitting up, Harry can't understand how people can just expect him to be fine and able to function after everything he has ever been through. Yes, he has gotten love but not enough to be sufficient, to function healthily. Out of his peripheral vision he caught sight of his uncle's razor, new and sharp. Before he even knows what he is doing, he has summoned it to his slick and red palm.

Not caring harry removes one of the small razors from its holding, and quickly without time for second thoughts swipes it down the length of his left forearm. He has scarlet tears dripping off his arm and turning into a gentle pink before swirling out of sight and he repeats his act of harm to his right arm with a bit of difficulty. Harry doesn't remember how much time sat there watching the ruby jewels fall from his skin.

The last thing he can remember is a gruff and husky voice screeching "BOY!" And then it's all gone. Blackness all around and for a moment he is at peace. Only for a moment.

PRESENT

~  
Voldemort doesn't know what has gotten into the boy, but at this moment, he doesn't care. All that matters is that Harry Potter is his after years of struggling to obtain his most prized possession. The letter came with a snowy white owl that even after delivering the letter would not leave his quarters. He didn't mind though, she was sweeter than most owls.

Pacing was something the dark lord was good at, great even, so it was only appropriate that he commence such action while his death eaters were gathering. His entrails were tied into such tight knots that he feared even the strongest magic would fail to undo them. Suddenly Voldemort was struck with a thought so hard he stopped breathing for a mere moment. Why on earth was he, the great Lord Freaking Voldemort, nervous about collecting, Harry Bloody Potter? Is that even a question he wants to ponder now?

No it is not, he decides, and mentally pulls the thought from his mind and pushes it far away from his being. Voldemort can hear shuffling outside his door which signals to him all his recruits are here ready to bend over backwards at his will.

As he stalks through the door all movement stops and all bodies bow, he bellows out, "My faithful followers, it seems little Harry Potter has requested to be rescued from the bright and painful light." He let this sink in a moment before speaking again. "Tonight we will plan and tomorrow we will obtain the merchandise and the dark will be one step closer to rising again."

Sweeping out of the room, shouts of joy and twisted excitement were heard through the closing door and Voldemort knew he would be successful this time around. It was inevitable that he would rise once more and the fact the 'victim' was coming willingly was even sweeter than sugar. It was like a huge smack in the face of all who thought they knew the Potter boy.

He couldn't wait to see how much damage had been inflicted on his property. Voldemort may be quiet but he wasn't uninformed, he was aware of the suicide attempts but not in detail. That would change very soon if he had any say, and he had all the say in the world.

End of Chapter


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Yes, I know this is super short but I'm still working on finding a veta for some advice and help with my dialogue and some punctuation. Thank you for reading this. It may be a bit rambling sounding but I wrote it while kind of depressed so yeah.**_

CHAPTER 3

Why is a question Harry is constantly asking himself? Sitting alone n his confinement also know as his room. 'As if' he scoffs out loud knowing that no one is there to hear. Even if they were he ponders, they wouldn't care to listen. He felt lost in his thoughts and felt overwhelmed by sudden revelations on his current situation.

What if…. What if he had never said a word?

Had kept quiet about all of his feelings, wrong doings, thoughts, views, and everything that had been mentioned to lead up to this point. Harry doesn't, he just doesn't understand what has he done to himself?

His soul should be begging to live, to have him carry on through everything. However it was silent, docile in its way of accepting its fate of being extinguished forever. Shouldn't he be filled with a raging need to live, no matter how unhappy he will be? Walking to the window, Harry slid it open and pushed his hand through t but was stopped by the ward preventing him from leaving his own hell. 'I want to be rescued' he thinks but not by someone else

. Harry desperately wants his will to come back so he 'I want to be rescued' he thinks but not by someone else. Harry desperately wants his will to come back so he can bring himself to the normal standard of living. Because honestly all he was right now was a walking shell of a former person.


End file.
